


And So, It Begins... Finally

by GizliBiraz



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/M, Finally, Not Really Sure Where This Will Go, What's Next?, surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizliBiraz/pseuds/GizliBiraz
Summary: After 20 years, she finally came to the right time, place, situation, and circumstance to share a long-awaited intimate evening with her secret obsession.
Relationships: Jo/Drew, ME/YOU, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Reader/Writer - Relationship





	And So, It Begins... Finally

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older piece I came across when changing out an old hard drive. I liked where it was going, and I put on some music and got to a more natural stopping place for this first chapter. I'll have to add to it... But fair warning for new fans, anyone who's read me for a while will tell you I don't get much time to write, so updates can take FOREVER!
> 
> That said, I LOVE comments! Please read, critique, give feedback, interact. I love it when I hear from you guys!
> 
> Listened to whilst writing:  
> • "Glory Box" by Portishead  
> • "Angel" by Massive Attack  
> • "Amirah" by Chasing Shadows  
> • "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack  
> • "Feelin' Love" by Paula Cole

You were surprised to see me when you opened the door. “I was on this side of town for a job interview; I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Huh?” I was beginning to wonder if I’d awakened you. “Oh, uh, no. Job interview, huh? That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“You look really good,” you said with a yawn as you stepped back and opened the door wide to allow me inside.

“Thanks,” I stepped through, and you shut the door behind me. I listened intently, straining to determine whether you were alone. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, just working—writing.”

“But I’m not interrupting?”

“Nah, I was gonna stop for a while. What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. There were so many things I wanted to say, but none of them would come out right. “Can I get a hug?”

Again, you looked a little blurry, but you opened your arms and stepped toward me. I pressed into you, feeling my frustration and worry dissipate as your arms wrapped around me. I squeezed and breathed your scent in deeply, savoring the aroma of sweat and day-old clothes. I did not let go, but then again, neither did you. I turned my head to face into your neck, this time gathering more of the spice of your skin. Softly, almost afraid you’d actually hear me, I asked, “Do you know what I really wanna do to you right now?”

You mumbled back at me, breathing deeply, as if to keep yourself in check, “What’s that?”

The fear shrank, and the anticipation and want took over. “I want to push you up against that wall and have my way with you.” I braced for impact as the words sunk in.

“What’s stopping you?”

Neither of us moved for a moment, but it felt like an eternity. Again, I braced myself, and I uttered the one thing that kept me from acting on my overwhelming desires. “Amy.”

Your response was small and quiet and still. I’m not sure I would have heard it if my head weren’t on your chest. “You mean the Amy Christine who doesn’t live here anymore?”

In shock, I pulled back and locked into your stormy eyes. “She left me.” You said it so matter-of-factly, so devoid of emotion. But I had enough emotion for both of us. I lunged for you, pushing your body against the wall and my own against yours, pulling your face down to meet my own, and I locked onto your lips as if they were the only nourishment left on earth and I was dying of starvation.

We stood there, for years it seemed, exploring one another’s kisses, leaning in, changing angles, grasping hair and jawlines, pulling our bodies together, learning that the broken pieces in me matched up to the broken pieces in you, and fitting our puzzle together. We cycled through desperation and need, hunger and flame, to tender and soft, gentle and mild. My hands wandered over the taut muscles of your back, your shoulders, down your arms as they held me, noting sinew and tendons, the banked power resting there. You tasted of salt and beer and vital need. You kept your hands almost studiously confined to my back, one drifting to the nape of my neck to draw my face closer when the wave of mutual hunger crashed over us again. It was madness, and it was perfect.

When we finally came up for air, a decade or so later, you took my hand, without words, and led me down the dark hallway off the right side of the foyer, through the threshold, and to your bed. You sat, facing me, on its edge and looked up at me, pulling me into the circle of your arms once again, as I stood between your knees. I leaned down for more kisses, my hair sliding down to make a curtain around our faces on both sides. I felt your hands on my hips, and moved, with little insistence, back a half step while you drew your knees together, and made a lap. I moved back in close, straddling, poised, and hiked my skirt up just enough to allow me to lower myself to your waiting thighs. Your hands slipped into the back of my blouse, skin on skin, and I marveled at the electricity of your touch. A small, gasping moan colored the silence, otherwise only interrupted by our mingled breathing. There was no swell of music or crescendo of tone to match our intensifying desire; instead, I was hyper-aware of the minutia: the delicate tink of the chain bouncing along the glass shade on the ceiling fan, the slight creaking of the headboard, the faint metallic grind of the springs in the mattress, the scratchy resistance of my hands along the rough ribbed fabric of your tank top, the tiny suction and pops of our mouths connecting and reconnecting. Each sound spoke decibels in the quiet room.

Again the wave of hunger took over, and I pulled at the bottom edge of that flimsy tank, lifting it up and over your head with only a nanosecond of broken contact between our lips. I snaked my hands down from your shoulders, sculpting every peak and curve indelibly into my memory. You pulled against my back, pressing me into your chest, and I had to come up for air. When I tipped my head back, you dropped your face to my neck, nuzzling into my collarbone, and adding exponentially to my heart rate. When I leaned back slightly further, desperate for everything and oblivion at once, it served only to press my pelvis into your waiting erection, daring me to take the plunge, to take you, to make twenty years of unrequited desire end in a gasp and a moan.

I have never wanted anyone the way that I wanted you in that moment. Until then, I had not known need or desperation, I had not understood that hunger and passion could so consume and ignite me. We were twin flames from ancient galaxies, circling through the stars, threatening to collide, until the final, inevitable shattering as we crashed together. I rolled my hips into you, insistent. 

You lifted my blouse off, instantly forgetting it as you tossed it to the floor, where my bra soon joined it. You stared, almost in awe for a moment before dipping your head to first kiss the swell of my breast and then pull the nipple into your mouth. I gasped at the sensation, wanting more, but also never wanting any single moment of this to ever end. You pulled back a bit and grinned mischievously up at me. “I want you, Jo. I don’t wanna wait anymore. I don’t wanna make any more excuses.”


End file.
